Shambling Dead
by Gayulesbuns
Summary: This is a fanfiction of a story in Zombies vs. Unicorns by Holly Black and J.L. I know this is not the good category but it's about zombies so give it a try if you want. It's about a guy zombie named Grayson and how he deals with being a flesh-eater.


Warm Bodies; A Modern Zombie Tale

**1. Bird-girls smell like chicken **

You have wanted to eat people for as long as you could remember. You know that there must have been a time when you ate like everybody else, vegetables and fruits and meat. Meat, meat is still good. It comes close to what human flesh tastes like, though you prefer people to dead, processed animals. People don't help themselves, really, with their smell and how easy they are to kill, and especially how dumb. Plus, the prion (virus) that infected you made some enhancements to your body: You are more attractive and the humans like that, as if you're innocent and can't harm them because you are beautiful. They want to know you, want to be near you. Makes it easy though, so you thank whatever there is—God, Destiny, Faith—for their dumbness.

"Grayson! Are you listening to me?" You turn around and look down at your newest prey. She's small and delicate looking, even though her voice is shrill and it's as if she's constantly whining, making you think of an annoying bird chirruping early in the morning. You just want to make her shut up. But soon, she won't be talking, she will be screaming when your teeth sink into her flesh and warm blood will be gushing into your mouth. But the brain is the best part; you are saving that for last.

You already know what you'll do. You'll look into her eyes and say something that she'll like. You will tell her that you're nervous because you really like her or that she's beautiful or some crap that'll make her shut up and come with you into the woods. Then you'll bend down so your face will be at her level and lean in, making her think that you're about to kiss her. And when she closes her eyes, you'll touch her neck (where her vein will be pulsing frantically) with your lips and sink your teeth into the flushed flesh.

Then the screaming and fighting will start. It won't last long though, the prion made you stronger, too. She'll try to hurt you, make you let go of her but there's no point really, you're already dead. Then her strength will leave her and her blood will spill out and you'll start the feeding. You'll start by the calves and move up to the thighs. You'll eat the arms after and the tummy and the neck. The brain is for last, the best part.

"Sure I am." You say whatever is necessary to please her and make her like you. It's a pain to have to drag them into the woods, you like it better when they come willingly. It makes it easy and simple and there's a lesser chance that someone will overhear her screaming than if you try to kidnap her.

"So… when are we going to your place?" She smiles and blood rushes to her cheeks, blushing. You already start to salivate. She smells like bird, like chicken. You'd like some fries with her but you can't have everything.

"Now, I guess." You try to sound casual, not to alarm her and make her think you've thought about this too long. That'll just make her suspicious and you don't need that. You just want a quick meal, not too messy.

You lead her to your car and get in. You look over at her, and see that she's clutching her hands together. She smells even stronger now that she's nervous. You could crack her skull right now, eat her in the car and be done with. But you don't want to mess the car up- blood is a bitch to get out.

You ride in silence and hope that no one saw her getting in your car. That happened once, two years ago. You were at a concert and someone saw the guy getting in your car. The next day, the police came to question you because the guy never came home. You denied everything of course, but the townspeople got suspicious when the next kid went missing. You learned your lesson after that: No more little villages or towns. Now you go to big, populated cities where people go missing every day.

"How old are you?" she asks you and you just answer without looking at her.

"Sixteen." You'll be sixteen forever, well till someone finally understands what you are and tries to kill you. You are undead, true, but you can still die again. Even if it's unlikely, it can happen.

You like them young, but not too young. Old people taste weird in your mouth and their skin is all saggy and soft, too soft. But you don't like children either. They taste good, but they're too small of a portion and too happy, especially if you lured them with candy. That old trick still works. They are like the McDonald's happy meals. You get a surprise with each of them. Some have braces and that leaves a nasty mark when they try to bite back. Teenagers are just perfect. The skin isn't soft and lifeless because of age, and they're not overexcited children high on sugar. Sure, they are more difficult to isolate but the challenge makes it even more fun.

"Shoot! I think I might have a flat tire." She looks at you but you just smile and get out. You take out your knife from your pocket and puncture the tire. You go to her side and knock on the window. She jumps a little and opens her door, getting out.

"Is it a flat?" Her voice is even more high-pitched than normal. You can sense her nervousness.

"Yeah, but my house is near. We can cut through the woods." You smile your most charming smile and start forward so she'll have no choice but to follow you or go back by foot, which might be long. She follows you, of course.

You walk till you can't see the dirt road you came on. You slow down your pace and wait for her to be next to you. Then you stop and touch her arm to make her stop, too. If you're heart still beat, it'd beat in anticipation and excitement. You smile and she returns your smile with one of her own.

"I really like you," you say just in case she's getting worried or coming to understand that this'll be her last night.

"I like you, too, Grayson," she says and you wonder how a voice this strong and high-pitched can even fit in a little person like her. You don't even know her name. Some Naomi or Nathalie, but it doesn't matter. Nobody has a name when you eat. Not your neighbor, not your grandmother, not your father, not even your little brother. No one. And I ate all of them, one by one till no one was left.

You lean down and hear her breath catches in her throat. Finally, she stops talking. You lean even closer, till she closes her eyes, waiting to feel your cold lips on hers. You take a look at her; sniff the air to smell her. Your stomach grumbles and you start salivating again. You bend down till your lips are on her neck and she gasps. She thinks you'll kiss her neck and move up her jaw to her lips. She's wrong. The only thing you are still thinking about is what her brain will taste like, and what size it'll be. She's so small, even for a sixteen year old. You can feel her pulse under your lips and then, finally, you sink your teeth into her flushed flesh and bite down.

Then the screaming and thrashing starts, but you know you'll taste that yummy brain of hers soon.

**2. Athletes taste yummy to the damned-soul undead kids **

When you wake up the next morning, you feel a bit disoriented but then you recognize your new room and ease back on the bed. You feel mostly full and refreshed and strong because of the feeding yesterday. The bird-like girl tasted good, like chicken. You used to love chicken before. You didn't expect her to make you full. She wasn't that hard to incapacitate. After you took a bite from her neck, the blood started pouring out of her and in two minutes she was almost drained. You watched her staggering and whimpering, clutching at her wound to try and stop the massive blood flow, trying to put as much distance between her and you, to save her life. It was no use, she was draining fast: The gash was pretty big.

Here's the thing, you know how to stay undetected. You made this list which helps you stay clear of the police. The prudent serial killer's guide to avoiding the cold hand of the law:

Move around! Don't stay in the same village, town or city too long. Superheros' call them lairs; police officers call them crime scenes.

Blend in. Do what other, 'normal' people usually do. Do the groceries; go to the mall; the movies or to the library. Make yourself appear as a normal person.

Vary your targets. The victims are supposed to be the telltale heart of a serial killer. The fatal flaw: all serial killers have a type. Bad idea. Even if you don't like old people or children, choose them over teenagers from time to time. And don't let skin color get in your way. Eat from jocks to old ladies. Raid funeral parlors (not recommended: dehydrated corpses can make you throw up) or put an ad online. Be creative.

And finally:

Use your brains. Or some other zombie will eat them for you.

If you do things according to this guide you can stay in the same city for months before the police even start suspecting anything.

When you took your first bite of her, flavors exploded in your mouth and you saw sparkles and stars on the back of your eyelids. That happens every time you feed. It's even better than being high. You feel dizzy and light-headed at first and then your mouth is filled with their essence and it's hard to let go. But you have to, you have to let go so the blood pours out and makes them weaker. You could have taken her, she was so small, but even that small she could have left traces of fighting on your body. You don't need that, just in case the police suspect you or whatever, you can't leave evidence behind. Unfortunately, she managed to take a few bites of her own. You didn't let go quick enough, but that's okay because the bite marks can be concealed by clothing. You're just glad she didn't claw at your face.

You get out of bed and smile; today there is a competition. You don't go after jocks or athletes because they usually fight back better than the others and they are stronger and faster than your usual prey. You just like looking at them, sweat pearling on their ripe skin, their well-formed muscles bulging under their skin when they move. They smell yummier, too. You don't really know why, maybe it's because they exercise or because they eat healthier. You don't care.

You go to your closet and take out a t-shirt and jeans. When you're done getting ready, you leave the apartment and lock your door behind. You don't really need to, but it's a habit that stuck with you. You're the only one living in this brownstone. The nice old lady that owns the place is long dead, parts of her rotting in the woods along with bird-girl and your other leftovers. You didn't really want to eat the old lady, she was nice, but you needed a place to stay without any neighbors. You ate her brain but that was all, you don't like the feel of saggy, soft skin in your mouth.

You walk toward your new high school, toward the football field and the tracks. You take a place on the bleachers, not too close to the tracks but not too far. You don't want the smell of the athletes to overwhelm you and make you lunge at them and tear them apart, eating their brains in front of everyone. That would blow your cover.

"Hey, Grayson!" You look down and see Jesse smirking at you. He's in your English class and you two spend the whole class talking about music and which band is better than another one. Your stomach grumbles even if you fed just yesterday. You can smell him from over here and lick your lips. You know he likes Joy Division and Mudhoney and Soundgarden, just like you.

"Hey!" you say back and think about sinking your teeth into him and eating him. You wonder what he'd taste like, nothing like bird-girl or old-lady that's for sure. You've never eaten an actual classmate, it was too risky. Even bird-girl: You met her at the park.

Jesse looks at you one more time and then turns to take his place, the race starts soon. You could maybe just nibble at the parts, eat something he won't miss. You could maybe eat a leg or something. And then make out with him. But it wouldn't go so well, would probably be awkward. Okay, a hand then? Who ever needed a left hand? But then you remember that he plays lacrosse as well. A pinky? Damn, you might as well starve yourself.

The gun in the coach's hand goes off and startles you. You look at Jesse running, he's fast you think. Probably as fast as you and you have the prion to make you stronger and faster, not him. The crowd is cheering for him as he runs ahead of the others. You cheer with the crowd while you stare at his back and legs. You can see the muscles bulging and working under his sweaty skin as he pushes himself forward, faster and faster. Man you'd like to take a bite of him, but not really. You want to be able to still talk to him about Joy Division and other stuff.

You could do it, eat him that is. You've done it a dozen times before. You tried out almost everything. Old ladies and little children, stoners, anorexics—you don't recommend those, there's not much to eat—, cheerleaders , a jock—he took a swing at you and you still have the blue mark on you ribs—, girls and boys. You could do it. You could look deep into his eyes and invite him over to play Halo or smoke hash or whatever and then devour him in the woods, like the others. But you don't want it to be like the others.

Liking your meal too much to kill him? That's a first.

You look up when the crowd cheers even stronger: Jesse is bent, his hands on his knees, breathing hard and the coach is next to him, taking his hand and raising it above his head. Jesse won the race. Everyone gets up and walks toward him, to congratulate him. You stay back.

Instead you go over to Mark, another runner, who's looking a bit angry and flushed from putting so much effort into running. He's near the folding table set up for the athletes with water bottles and cardboard cups.

"Good run." He just groans in response and drains half of his water in a shot. He smells good, too, but not as good as Jesse. Mark isn't in any of your classes. You smile and nod.

"You should have won. That guy thinks too much of himself." With your head, you indicate Jesse, who's talking to the coach. That is, in fact, not true at all. Mark doesn't even run half as fast as Jesse because you see him spend his lunch-time smoking cigarettes.

"Tell me about it!" says Mark, squinting because of the sun. You'd eat him right there, right now if you could, he smells so tempting. And if you eat him, you won't have to worry about wanting to eat Jesse in English class.

"You know, yesterday I bought some cigarettes from a guy but I don't want it anymore, thought you'd take them." You hope it won't make him suspicious. You hope he says that he wants them. You really need to eat something.

"You sure?" He looks over at you and you nod. He grins and you want to sink your teeth into that ripe skin of his, tear him apart and eat his brain. The hunger feels like delicate knives pushing in your stomach and up through your spine.

"Yeah. You want to come to get them now? They're in my car." He says yes and you smile to yourself. Even though you just ate yesterday, it wasn't enough, not quite enough. Mark will do the trick. He's taller than you with lean muscles and all.

You walk toward your car with him and open the trunk. He bends over a bit to peer into the dark trunk, looking for the stuff. When he turns to you, frowning, you knock him out with a blow to the jaw. The prion does come in handy. It makes you attractive, strong and fast and stops you from feeling anything when you feed. That's the best thing about it. How could you eat anyone, your grandmother and father and little brother, if you felt anything? You'd be starving forever.

When you've been hungry too long it becomes dangerous, well even more dangerous than normally. You can't think straight anymore and you just lunge at the first human you smell. You become reckless and then you make a mistake, like eating someone right in front of people.

That never happened to you, but you saw it end the undead-life of your best friend. He was really religious so when he understood that he was a zombie he tried everything to stop himself from eating people. He prayed every minute he could, asked God to forgive him and told you to do the same. He resisted his hunger a month, which was pretty impressive. You get hungry every week. Then, one day Eric and you were at the park a sunny day and a girl passed you. Eric, your best friend, lunged at her and started tearing her apart. The girl didn't even have time to understand what was happening to her. The people around you started screaming and shrieking. You couldn't do anything to stop him, he was delirious. You ran away when you hear the sirens of the police cars approaching.

Mark's limp body falls into your trunk and you shut it and walk to the driver's side. You climb in and start the car. You drive slowly out of the parking lot so you don't attract attention and head toward the woods. You think you really should find another place to do your feeding, you can still smell your leftovers there. It won't make Mark suspicious or whatever because he's unconscious but when you lure fully-awake prey here, they'll start running even before you make your move.

When you arrive, you turn off the engine and go over to the trunk. Mark is still unconscious so you haul him up on your shoulder and start into the forest. You walk past the patch of blood where you ate bird-girl, past a cheerleader's hand sticking out between the leaves on the ground. You put Mark down and he looks as if he's just sleeping peacefully among the dead leaves in the woods.

You kneel down, a smile on your lips, and trail your fingers on the muscles of his arms and on his calves. You lift his shirt and underneath it lays hard abdomen. Mark's skin is tanned from spending days in the sun training. Too bad it was for nothing.

Well, there's no point waiting anymore. You tear into Mark and your world explodes behind your eyelids in a thousand blinking stars and your mouth is full of his flavor and warm blood gushing in, your nose full of his smell and that of leaves and your ears are filled with the sound of wind and rustling. You are in bliss. Pure bliss.


End file.
